The Way You Sleep I Don't Know Whether to Kiss You or Kick You

1.

I woke up thinking about you.
You hovered in the air
around me,
there and not there,
netted like sleep.

The sheets smelled like you do
but the room was too cold.
I pulled your sweater on to warm me
but it is so full of holes.

Remind me to teach you to sew.

2.

When I woke up again
you had crawled into bed.
There but not there,
you lay netted in sleep.
Cocooned with your limbs wrapped
in my stolen sheets.

You smiled
your children's smile;
too sweet
for such a thief.

Naked and cold,
I pulled on my clothes and
your holy sweater,
stumbled to turn off
the air conditioner.

The white wine,
warm on the table
from last night,
I drank that.
And smoked.

Ghosts and alcohol
picked at my loose threads;
attempting to unravel me.

I watched the light change
as the sun rose.
In the orange and pinks,
I thought about trains.

I weighed their speed against
the gravity of your name.
Certainly,
with the right trajectory
I could escape.

Oh, but where would I go
with this sunrise?
The money in my pocket;
this time on my hands?

My gypsy feet have lost
all sense of direction
now that the heart they carry
has found a home.